


Ring the Bells

by feroxargentea



Category: due South
Genre: Accidental Dating, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Weddings, kidfic (sort of), oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27857710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feroxargentea/pseuds/feroxargentea
Summary: “Fraserlovesweddings,” I told Kowalski firmly. “Don’t even think about backing out now.”
Relationships: Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski, Stella Kowalski/Ray Vecchio
Comments: 24
Kudos: 58
Collections: due South Seekrit Santa 2020





	Ring the Bells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wicked3659](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wicked3659/gifts).



> Thank you to my lovely betas: cj2017, alltoseek and alcyone301!

~o~o~o~

Sometimes, just sometimes, I look at my life and wonder where it all went so _right._

Because, if I’m honest, there are days it might not have. Days I opened my mouth and said something real dumb. Days I could have messed it all up. Sometimes I think there must be someone up there looking out for me after all.

Take that Friday two months ago, the one where things went kind of kerfluey for a while. There I was, sitting in the spare room in Fraser and Kowalski’s apartment with my feet up and one kiddo asleep on my chest, just like I did every Friday afternoon. And there was Kowalski, dancing around the room with the other kiddo in his arms, just like _he_ did every Friday afternoon.

“Goin’ to the chapel,” he was crooning, his face an inch from Joe’s, “and we’re…gonna get ma-a-a-rried…”

“Kowalski,” I warned him, loading the word with my best Armando Langoustini menace.

“Gee, I really love you, and we’re…gonna get married,” he sang. “Goin’…to the chapel…of love…”

Joe reached out one tiny hand and swatted Kowalski’s cheek. I rolled my eyes.

“I swear to God, Kowalski, you sing that one more time and they’ll be finding your corpse in the dumpster out back. Plus, if you keep swinging him around like that, he’s gonna puke.”

Kowalski shot me a grin and switched tunes, rocking Joe more slowly to the gentler rhythm. “Love is all around me, it’s everywhere I go-o-o-o…”

“It’d be justifiable homicide,” I said, settling Tasha more comfortably against my ribs. “Fraser would back me up.”

“Ooh, the Serious Vecchio voice. Joe and I are shakin’ in our shoes here, aren’t we, Jojo?”

I glowered at him. “How many times did Stella drag you to _Four Weddings and a Funeral,_ anyway?”

“Three hundred fifty-seven, give or take,” he said promptly. “If I’d known she was gonna dump me for a balding PI, I woulda held out for _Pulp Fiction_. What did she make you sit through last week?”

I winced. _“The Wedding Planner.”_

“Niiice.”

I gave up trying to get a rise out of him. In any case, it hardly ever worked these days. Since I’d poached him from the Chicago PD, he’d _mellowed._ It turned out all he needed was a chance to set his own rules, manage his own caseload. The way we worked it now, we had a bunch more leeway than we’d gotten at the CPD. So if he wanted to tell a douchebag client to take a hike, he could. If he wanted to spend an extra week or two tracking down a missing kid, I wasn’t going to say no. And when Stella’s pregnancy turned out to be twins and Kowalski’s job was suddenly fifty percent childcare, he was actually happy about it.

A couple years back, the idea of him babysitting my kids would have been all kinds of weird. But he wasn’t just Stella’s ex, he was Fraser’s current, which made it somehow fine. Natural, even. That thing back when he and Stella were still together, where he’d tried to pressure her into having kids? That had been dumb, yeah, but he’d been bang on the money about her wanting them, she just hadn’t wanted them with _him._ She’d wanted them with someone who wasn’t still a cop, in a relationship that wasn’t falling apart. Which, in the circumstances, I couldn’t fault her for.

Plus, it turned out Kowalski just really liked kids, whoever’s they happened to be. So there we were, me lazing in the rocking chair, and him circling the nursery in a gentle two-step, with Joe coddled in his arms. With anyone else, Joe would have puked all down their shirt by now and screamed blue bloody murder. With Kowalski, he’d spat up a mouthful of milk just for show, blinked at Kowalski’s caterwauling as though it was angel-song falling from heaven, and gone fast asleep, his hair still spiky with baby sick. God, I loved him.

“Hey, uh, did you get any new leads on the Duvall case?” I asked, pulling Tasha’s tiny socks up where she’d squiggled them loose.

“Nah,” Kowalski said. “The Detroit connection was a dud. I’m thinking the kid’s probably hiding out at her aunt’s place by now. Fraser’s gonna look into it.”

“He is?”

“Yeah, ’cause the aunt lives up in Newfoundland, and Fraser was at Depot with the local sergeant or something, back in the day.” Kowalski went over to the door and raised his voice. “Hey, Ben! Any news on the Duvall case?”

There was a clattering sound from the kitchen, and Fraser appeared in the doorway a few seconds later.

“Sorry, I missed that,” he said. “I was just putting the pie in the oven.”

Kowalski tipped his head towards me. “Vecchio wants an update on the Duvall kid.”

“Ah,” Fraser said, and smiled at me. “No sign of the young lady yet, I’m afraid, Ray, but Sergeant McPherson is keeping an eye on the aunt’s property. If anyone shows, she’ll let us know.”

“Thanks, Benny,” I said.

“Not at all. You’re welcome to stay for dinner, by the way. And Stella too, of course.”

“Hey, I’d love to, but she’s had a long day, she’s gonna be beat, so…”

He nodded. “Some other time, then. Oh, and I brought you the cordless phone for when she calls.”

He gave me the handset and scooped Tasha up in exchange, puffing out his cheeks and making little chipmunk sounds at her. He was a natural with kids; that much hadn’t come as a surprise to anyone.

Kowalski grabbed a spare muslin square from the diaper table and spent way longer than necessary draping it over Fraser’s shoulder to catch any upchuck, exchanging that private smile with him all the while. I would have told the two of them to get a room, only (a) we were already in their room, and (b) it kind of reminded me of the way Stella looked at me sometimes—the way that made me willing to sit through _Four Weddings and a Funeral_ for the zillionth time just because it made her happy. So if other people wanted to bat their eyelashes at each other, I couldn’t really complain.

Kowalski finished messing with the cloth at last and let Fraser head back out to the kitchen with Tasha. He sat down in the chair next to mine, folding his legs under himself like some weird origami insect.

“God, I’m done in,” he said, settling Joe higher on his shoulder. “Bet you’re even worse. How’s the wedding planning going?”

“Two months to go, and I’ve not murdered anyone yet. Oh, and we got the invitations printed at last.” I fished Kowalski’s invitation out of my jacket and passed it to him. He read it, smirking.

“Has Stella picked the table decorations yet?” he asked. “Pink, pink, and a load more pink?”

I scowled at him. “Just because you didn’t bother with any of this stuff…”

“Hey, we were kids!” he protested. “I was twenty-two, I had to sell my T100R just to pay for the suit rental. You think that didn’t hurt like hell? Best bike I ever had, and she still didn’t get to have wedding favors or ribbons or any of that crap. So if she wants to splurge this time round, you better bite the bullet and play along.”

“Kowalski, I spent a whole hour last night pretending I cared which shade of pink she picked.”

“Good,” he said fiercely. “Keep doing that. Two months to go—plus the rest of your life, obviously.”

I didn’t stick my tongue out at him, but it was a close-run thing. Him getting all protective over Stella? Gimme a break. Although, to be fair, I’d do the same for Fraser.

He read the invitation again, flipped it over, and flipped it back. “Why does it say Ben and Ray?”

“Uh, why shouldn’t it say Ben and Ray?”

“’Cause no one calls him that.”

“You do,” I pointed out.

“No, I don’t!”

“You literally just did.”

“When?”

“Two minutes ago, when you called him in here. You said ‘Ben.’”

He frowned and flipped the card over again. “So, do we get to bring plus-ones?”

I blinked at the sudden change in attack. “Why would you need plus-ones?”

“I dunno,” he said. “Fraser might.”

 _“You’re_ his plus-one, you idiot.”

He pulled a face at me. Day with a Y in it, so Kowalski was feeling victimized. “Why do _I_ have to be the plus-one?”

“Because _he’s_ the best man,” I explained in my most patient voice, “and you’re just the tagalong. The bride’s embarrassing ex.”

He rolled his eyes. “Funny guy. What if he wants to bring a date?”

“Okay, fine.” I grabbed the card back off of him, scooped up a pen from where it had rolled under my chair, and added “…OR OTHER DATE” in big capitals after his name. “Happy now? Just don’t blame me if he trades you in for a less pissy model.”

He took the card back, still frowning. “Now it looks like _I’m_ his date.”

“So?”

He stared at me, and I stared back.

“I’m not his date,” he said, his tone defensive. “I’m not…we’re not…”

“You’re not what?” My stomach did that elevator-drop thing as his words suddenly registered. “Jesus Christ, did you _break up_ with him? When the hell did you break up with him?”

He shook his head. “No, no, no, no, it’s not…we’re not…we’re just friends!”

I gaped at him. “What?”

“Buddies,” he explained, jutting his chin obstinately.

“You’re kidding!”

I waited for him to back down, laugh at me, _ha ha funny joke_ , but nothing happened. Silent glare from Kowalski. It was completely insane, but apparently he really wasn’t kidding.

I realized my mouth was hanging open, and closed it. _Okay,_ I thought. _Okay, don’t panic. This is fixable. I can fix this._

I took a deep breath. “Lemme get this straight. You’re not actually with him?”

“Nope.”

“And you’ve never been with him?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t _like_ him?”

He scowled at me. “Of course I like him!”

“So what’s _wrong_ with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me, we’re just not together!”

I gestured around the room. “But you’ve been living together for two years!”

“Yeah, in a two-bedroom apartment!”

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “When’s the last time he slept in his own room?”

“That’s only because the nursery stuff’s taking up all the space!” Kowalski shifted Joe to a one-hand grip and stabbed a finger at each piece of furniture in turn. “Cribs, rocking chairs, changing table, baby wardrobe. Where’s Fraser gonna sleep?”

“In your bed, apparently.”

“Hardy-ha-ha. You know he’s got his own cot set up in there.”

My gaze flew to the dividing wall, because no, I hadn’t known that. How would I have known that? It wasn’t as if I was going to go poking around in someone’s private room.

“Jeez, Kowalski, what did you expect people to think?” I cocked my head, suddenly reassessing his ridiculous spiky hair and dangling bracelet. “Wait, is it the guy thing that’s freaking you out?”

That got an even deeper scowl from him. “No, it’s the ‘we’re not together’ thing that’s freaking me out!”

“Huh.” At least my gaydar wasn’t on the blink, then. He’d never actually said he was queer, but hey, _look_ at the guy.

God, this was a mess. I gazed around the room, at its kid-sized furniture and hand-painted murals. Stella had suggested a teddy bear’s picnic as a theme, and Fraser had dutifully included one in his design: a polar bear, far off in the distance, with two little cubs tumbling after her over the ice floes. It was cute, really, if you squinted. Above the twin cribs, a pair of Arctic foxes danced across sparkling snowdrifts, while to the left of my rocking chair a snowshoe hare peeked out from behind an inuksuk. Joe and Tasha had to be the only kids in Chicago who drifted off to sleep under a backdrop of the Northern Lights.

“I can’t believe Fraser’s never said anything to me,” I said. “Why the hell wouldn’t he say anything? I asked him straight out, a month or two back, if he was gonna make an honest man of you once Canada legalizes gay marriage, and he didn’t even—”

Kowalski sat bolt upright. “Wait, wait, you said _what?”_

“I just happened to mention it,” I said, shrugging. “You know, what with having weddings on the brain and all.”

“Holy fuck!” He glanced down at Joe and lowered his voice. “Why would you _do_ that?”

“I dunno, maybe because it seemed like a reasonable question.”

He glared daggers at me. Then he leaned closer, ducking his head, and lowered his voice even further. “So, uh, what did he say?”

I suppressed a grin. Definitely queer, then. I thought about what had really happened, which was that Fraser had gone bright pink and tugged at his ear and embarked on a long lecture about Canadian equal opportunities legislation and regional politics—“not forgetting Nunavut, of course, Ray, as we were discussing last week”—until I zoned out in self-defense and failed to notice he hadn’t answered the question. But Fraser and I had been tight long before Kowalski rocked up to the party. Whatever he had or hadn’t said, I was pretty damn sure what he wanted.

“Fraser _loves_ weddings,” I told Kowalski firmly. “Don’t even think about backing out now.”

“Now? There is no now!”

“Now is when you step up to the mark,” I said. Kowalski opened his mouth to protest, but I raised my voice. “I mean it! That invitation is to the both of you. You got two months to sort this out, or I swear I’m gonna sic Frannie on you.” Another thought occurred to me. “Oh God, please don’t tell Ma meanwhile. Just play along, okay? Pretend you’re all hunky-dory, or you’ll break her heart.”

He gaped at me. “Your _mom_ thinks me and Fraser are together?”

“The whole world thinks you’re together! Ma thinks you and Fraser are the cutest thing since Desi and Lucille.”

“From _I Love Lucy?”_ He looked puzzled. “Didn’t they split up?”

“Not in Ma’s world. I’m serious, Kowalski, don’t tell her. It’s bad enough me and Stella having kids before marriage. Now her second-favorite son breaks up with his boyfriend?”

“Fraser’s not my boyfriend!”

“Yeah, you try telling Ma that.”

Kowalski lapsed into silence, but it was a thoughtful kind of silence, one in which he kept glancing at the nursery door. He and Fraser had to be in some serious amount of denial, but I couldn’t help noticing he hadn’t said no, hadn’t said “I’m not like that” or “I’m not into him.” Hadn’t even said “I don’t think he’s into me.” I settled back into my chair. Maybe it was just the happy wedding hormones talking, but I got the idea things might sort themselves out soon enough.

The hypnotic rocking of Kowalski’s own rocking chair had already sent Joe back to sleep, and it was making me yawn, too. The long-running battle over what constituted reasonable living temperatures in the Fraser-Kowalski household had been cut short by the twins’ arrival and Stella’s immediate ban on subarctic cold, so the apartment was cozy and soporific. When at last the phone rang, it woke me from a pleasant doze. I fumbled for it and jabbed the button.

“Uh, hi?” I said stupidly, yawning wide.

“Hi,” Stella said, in the voice she kept just for me, the one that always gave me the warm fuzzies. “I’m on my way, okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes,” I confirmed. “Love you, babe.”

I hung up, ignoring Kowalski’s eye roll.

Fraser appeared, dishcloth in hand, breaking into a smile at the sight of Kowalski sprawled there with Joe snoozing on his chest. Yeah, I thought, I might have been wrong about them, but I wasn’t far off the mark.

“Was that Stella?” he asked.

“Yup,” I said, heaving myself to my feet. “She’s on her way over.”

“Perfect. Tasha is already asleep in her carrier. I’ll just box up the spare cookies for you to take with you.”

He headed back out. Kowalski got up to follow him, but I held up a hand to stop him.

“What?” he demanded.

“Two months,” I hissed. I made a show of pointing at him, and then at Fraser, and then at the bedroom on the other side of the nursery wall. “Two months, Kowalski, or I’ll sort this out myself.”

~o~o~o~

The wedding was…hey, you know what weddings are like. On one level they’re a waking nightmare, but then again I was marrying the loveliest woman in the world, so you can’t blame me for spending the whole time grinning like a fool. And once it was all over, once we’d gotten through the “I do’s” and the kissing and the bouquet-throwing and the banqueting, and Fraser had made us all laugh (and Ma cry) with his Best Man speech, it was just me and Stella, dancing together in a ballroom lit by a thousand fairy lights.

We’d done the First Dance and the cheesy disco and the obligatory Vecchio family conga, and now the DJ had dimmed the lights and put on something slow and sultry. Frannie and Elaine had retreated to the corner to coo over the sleeping twins, and the dance floor was full of tipsy couples, swaying in each other’s arms—except for Uncle Roger, who’d had one cocktail too many and was busy trying to teach a potted palm the tango. I glanced across and saw Kowalski and Fraser in a dim corner, lost in the music, slow-dancing together as if they were the only people in the world.

I sighed and rested my head against Stella’s, breathing in the scent of the rosebuds tucked into her hair. She’d long since shed her high heels and veil; she didn’t need any of that stuff to be beautiful, anyway.

“Everything okay?” she asked, pulling me closer and tipping her face up to mine.

“Yeah,” I said. I looked around the ballroom again, at my friends and my family, at Uncle Roger dancing with his potted plant. “Yeah, sweetheart, everything’s okay. Everything is just about perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> (for the "missing scene", see the comments below)


End file.
